(The Street)      Angel:   New York City --      Mark:   Uh huh      Angel:   Center of the universe      Collins:   Sing it girl --      Angel:   Times are shitty   But I'm pretty sure they can't get worse      Mark:   I hear you      Angel:   It's a comfort to know   When you're singing the hit-the-road blues   That anywhere else you could possibly go   After New York would be a pleasure cruise      Collins:   Now you're talking   Well, I'm thwarted by a metaphysic puzzle   And I'm sick of grading papers -- that I know   And I'm shouting in my sleep, I need a muzzle   All this misery pays no salary, so   Let's open up a restaurant in Santa Fe   Oh sunny Santa Fe would be nice   Let's open up a restaurant in Santa Fe   And leave this to the roaches and mice      Collins:   Oh -- oh      All:   Oh --      Angel:   You teach?      Collins:   -- I teach -- Computer Age Philosophy   But my students would rather watch TV      Angel:   America      All:   America!      Collins:   You're a sensitive aesthete   Brush the sauce onto the meat   You could make the menu sparkle with rhyme   You could drum a gentle drum   I could seat guests as they come   Chatting not about Heidegger, but wine!   (with homeless people in the shadows)   Let's open up a restaurant in Santa Fe   Our labors would reap financial gains      All:   Gains, gains, gains      Collins:   We'll open up a restaurant in Santa Fe   And save from devastation our brains      Homeless:   Save our brains      All:   We'll pack up all our junk and fly so far away   Devote ourselves to projects that sell   We'll open up a restaurant in Santa Fe   Forget this cold Bohemian hell   Oh--      All:   Oh--      Collins:   Do you know the way to Santa Fe?   You know, tumbleweeds...prairie dogs...   Yeah